I felt the need to defend them—home health aides had really tough jobs. “It’s hard to do that when you have so many other things to take care of.”
“Yeah, for sure.” Sebastian was almost apologetic. “I was just kind of hoping that you could help make this easier on my grandma from a more philosophical perspective, I guess. So that when the time comes, she’s more … prepared.”
My empathy swelled again. “She’s lucky to have you.”
He shrugged. “She was really good to me when I was growing up—kind of my escape, in a lot of ways. It’s the least I can do.”
“It was the same way with me and my grandfather.” As a rule, I didn’t share personal details about myself with clients, but the words had just tumbled out.
“You guys were close?”
“He raised me, actually.”
“Wow, what happened to your parents?” As soon as he said it, he put up a hand like he was halting traffic. “No, wait, forget it—that’s super rude of me to ask.”
“No, it’s fine. There’s no point pretending that death doesn’t happen. Plus, I just asked you all those questions about your grandma.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked to someone about my parents. “They died in a boating accident while they were on vacation in China. Their bodies were never found.”
“I’m sorry—that really sucks.” The kindness in his eyes felt genuine.
I took a deep breath. “No one wants to lose their parents, but I don’t actually remember a lot about them. I was only six when they died.”
“Jesus, that’s rough,” Sebastian said.
Rhonda watched curiously in the rearview mirror. Since I didn’t want to dissect my life story any further with two strangers, I steered the conversation back to Claudia.
“I’ll be honest, Sebastian—I’m not sure how things are going to work with me visiting your grandma if she doesn’t know the truth. Lying about the photography is bad enough. And like you said, it’s kind of unethical.”
Sebastian grimaced again. “I get that. But could you just give it a couple of weeks? I know she’s probably going to find out eventually, but I just want to give her a little bit more time to live in ignorant bliss. Not that what she’s going through is blissful.”
“I get what you mean.” It was hard to deny his good intentions, even if they were morally flawed. “But it seems like a bit of a stretch to tell her I’ll be coming to see her several times a week just to talk about photography. And I won’t be able to do my job properly—the entire point of my work is to help people come to grips with their impending death, not to deny the fact that it’s happening.”
“I know, I know.” A heavy sigh. “I’ll talk to my dad about it, but please say you’ll keep coming to see her for now? I just feel kind of helpless. And having you spend time with her feels like something I can do for her without going against my dad’s wishes.”
I thought about Grandpa. I would’ve done anything to make his final days—and moments—better. And I could probably ask Bessie to recommend some photography books.
“Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll give it two weeks.”
20
After Rhonda and Sebastian dropped me off at Washington Square, I stayed for a while to watch the social drama of the dog park. It was another tradition Grandpa and I had developed when I was a kid. Each Sunday on our way home from the bookstore, we’d spectate at the dog park, commentating on the social hierarchies of its canine players. There was always that one exuberant, carefree pup that the others followed around in awe, drawn in by its innate confidence. And then there was usually a timid dog who found all the raucous socializing to be too much, standing silently at the edge of the park, resenting its owner for subjecting it to such torture. I could relate to the latter archetype. Participating in the world was overwhelming sometimes.
Since I hadn’t gotten around to buying vitamins after running into Sebastian at Duane Reade, I ducked into the pharmacy on my way back down Sixth Avenue. At the end of the aisle, I recognized a familiar silhouette leaning against the counter, charming the young pharmacist with a story about “the good old days.” I waited until he’d tipped the brim of his trilby and turned in my direction.
“Hello, stranger!” Leo greeted me with his unfailingly broad grin. Whenever he did that, I always imagined hearing the ting that sounded in movies when someone flashed their gold tooth.
I pushed his arm playfully. “Now you’re the one who disappeared into thin air.” It was unusual to go a week without a game with Leo, or at least running into him on the stairs.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You know how it is when you have visitors in town, always wanting you to show them around and give them the ‘local’s’ tour.”
Since I’d never had a visitor in my life, I didn’t.
I looked at the white paper bag with a stapled prescription bulging in his hand. “Is everything okay?”
“You bet.” Leo shook the bag back and forth so it rattled like a maraca. “Just stocking up on the usual cholesterol pills so that I can keep on eating those cheeseburgers.”
“I’m not sure that’s how cholesterol pills work, Leo. I think the point is that you take them and stop eating greasy foods.”
“Nah, I like my interpretation better,” he scoffed. “Speaking of—what are you doing now? Feel like getting a bite to eat at the diner?”
My stomach rumbled. “Yes, I do.” The vitamins could wait.
Except for losing some of its luster, the diner looked almost exactly the same as it always had. The now-faded hues of the Formica and vinyl were like a postcard left out in the sun. I liked that it hadn’t changed—a time capsule that also kept me fed.
Leo was in his element, filling me in on the neighborhood gossip. Though Grandpa had always told me not to encourage Leo’s idle chatter about other people’s lives, I indulged him once in a while.
“Well, first of all, there’s the bodega cat drama,” Leo recounted.
“Oooh, sounds intriguing.” He didn’t need much encouragement, but he liked a captive audience.
“You know the fat ginger tabby in the bodega over on Grove?”
“The one who gave birth to kittens between the bags of potato chips?”
“That’s the one.” He lifted the top of his cheeseburger to remove the pickles and then shot me a cryptic look. “She went missing last Tuesday.”
“Stolen or wandered off?”
“Nobody knows. But here’s the kicker: she mysteriously returned three days later.”
“That’s not so mysterious, Leo,” I said, pouring syrup on my French toast. “Cats tend to wander off. It’s kind of their thing.”
“You’re right—they do.” He doused his fries in ketchup. “But do they come back a different gender?”
“You mean the cat that came back was male?”
Leo sat back against the booth, satisfied with his reveal of the plot twist. “Yep.”
“Wow, so somebody switched them.” I was hooked. “Who would do that? Don’t they have security cameras?”
“Everywhere but the potato chip aisle.”
“So, what’s your theory?”
“Cat-breeding ring, I’d say. Let’s see if there’s an uptick in ginger kittens at the pet stores later this year.”
* * *
Leo’s shuffle was even slower than usual when we walked the few blocks home. I was used to reducing my pace while walking with him, but today it felt like I only needed to take one step for every two of his. As I held on to the crook of his arm while we wove through the oncoming pedestrians, he leaned into me more than once.
True to the capricious early-March weather, the sun retreated without warning. Fat raindrops began to splatter the pavement in front of us, escalating from sporadic to relentless within minutes. But when I tried to guide Leo beneath the narrow awning of a jazz club, he resisted.
“It’s just a little bit of water, kid. And besides, there are only so many times in your life you get to play in the rain.” He turned his face skywards, grinning. “Might as well enjoy it while I can.”
I took a mental snapshot of the moment so that I could always treasure it.